It was snowing outside.

Small fragile snowflakes moved gracefully through the darkening sky. The winter months were now upon the small village in Norway, and even though bright fires burned in many houses, shivers still moved down people's spines. The night would be long, and when the sun returned tomorrow, frost and ice would cover everything for miles.

The first snow of winter was always celebrated in the small norwagian village. Once the television spoke of the white-pebbles, children would wait by windows, eye bright with excitement. A game would arise as minutes ticked by, whoever saw the first snowflake would be given a sweet. Then they would all cuddle around the fire to hear the ancient legend of the threatening ice queen.

The legend would bring many emotions to the young spirits, teaching them how the first people of the small village were able to overcome the threat. Some moments were scary, making children hide, shaken, underneath their thick blankets. But eventually the hero would win like they always do, slaying the threat when it seemed that victory would never come to pass.

The hero, of course, was long dead, but he was spoken of as if he were alive.

The legend was told every year as the first bit of winter came to cover the village. The tradition, even though it was the same every year, never brought the children or adults any boredom. It brought them a feeling of legacy, and just. This was their home, the place where the first village man defeated the raged ice queen, who wanted to cover the land in snow and ice forevermore. It brought them pride to know that they live on a land of victory.

The legend never changed throughout the eras that it was told. It was the same story with the same villain and the same ending. No one wanted to change the roots of their land, and if anyone tried, the retelling would be torn to pieces, just like the books that villagers tried to write.

The small village didn't want to share this past with anyone, only the people in the small village could know about the ice queen, and the hero, and the founding of their land. The small village from afar seemed to have no secrets, that it was an open and joyful place. But if anyone tried to look closer, they could see the secrets laying under the frost, and the bloodshot deep inside the snow.

But even the mysterious villagers themselves didn't know the whole story. They didn't even know half the story was twisted with literature lies.

The snowfall covered the glass windows of a cabin that laid off to the side of the small norwaigan village. The cabin was made with old wood, and smaller than most of the large antique houses in the village. Flaws seemed to cover the small wooden house, like cracked windows and uneven floorboards. But the owner never tried to change it since it was the oldest house in the village. It was too famous to be remade.

Inside the cabin was a mother and daughter, both of them sitting cross-legged by the blazing flame. The mother was elegant, and all of the villagers would describe her as such. Her skin was the color of snow, exact for her rosy red cheeks. Her body was thin, and her high cheekbones were accented sharply over her uncreative body. Her hair was long and paper white, and her eyes were the shade of coal. And around the mother's neck was a necklace with a bright blue diamond. The shiny rock that no one could ever identify.

The daughter was only four years of age, but her graceful stance would tell anyone otherwise. Her skin was pale, like her mothers, except that the young girl showed more color. Red seemed to be tinted through the children's figure. Her hair was white like her mothers as well, but her eyes were the shade of ice. They were the brightest shade of blue anyone in the village had ever seen. A smile was always written on the child's face, and her light childish eyes were always filled with a bright curiosity.

"Det snor mor," The daughter told her mother, eyeing the white covered window behind her.

The mother smiled at her daughter happiness, but said in a pure norgwain accent, "English darling, we need to practice."

Her ice colored eyes still on the window, the child said, "It's snowing, mother."

"Ja," She said, "Yes, it is."

"Kan jeg leke ute."

The mother smiled, "You can play outside once you are finished with your flashcards, and English darling."

The four-year-old let out a sigh, and turned to look over at the television that hung in the living room. It was showing the local news station in the main city, and the subtitles were all in english, which the young girl could read most of. She brushed a strand of white hair out of her face before turning back to her mother.

Her daughter watched as her mother shuffled up the cards into a new order. They had been working on this stack for a couple days now, and they wouldn't move on until the four-year-old could get each of them right without hesitation.

"Fødselsdag," The Mother said, reading off the flashcard that was the same color as her skin.

"Birthday."

"Good," The mother said, proudness seeping through her black eyes, "Fordi."

"Because."

"Yes, darling. Sannsynligvis."

The daughter hesitated, thinking through her growing vocabulary. It took her a moment to speak, "Probably?"

"Yes darling! Good, good, good," The mother cheered, "Funnet."

"Broken!" The daughter said confidently, only to get a disapproving look from her mother.

"Funnet means found my darling," The mother said, "We'll need to go again."

"Ikke igjen mor!" The daughter said, fresturation growing, "vaer sa snill!"

"If you start paying attention, we won't have to go again," The mother tells her patienceless daughter. She smiles brightly at her daughter, trying to calm the rising anxiousness, "Jeg tror pa deg min kjaere."

That's when a bomb landed on the opposite side of the old cabin.

The explosion sent waves of shock through the old, flawed cabin. The bomb set fire to the left side of the house, everything bursting into bright flames. Memories, and objects turning to ashes in seconds. The original heritage of the small village burning into the ground alongside the wooden cabin.

The roof over the living room came undone, showing the dark sky overhead. The white snowflakes were visible in the black abyss of the haunted night, but they seemed to mean nothing anymore. The flying bombs were the only thing that the villagers could see. They were large, and they were dangerous. The bombs were going to destroy the small village, the place where no one could touch.

The mother and daughter were still in the living room, but the scene was different. Small fires were catching throughout the living room, the flashcards were shattered all over the place, and the television had fallen off of its hooks. Pieces of pieceless furniture were burning, and out of place. Everything was broken, and disappearing.

The mother straightened herself a couple seconds after the first bomb landed on the ground. Her pale skin was smeared with bright red blood. Her black eyes were moving throughout the broken house, looking at the burning, missing roof boards and the bomb that read Stark.Tears didn't threaten the panicked woman's face.

The mother found her daughter in second, the four-year-old girl passed out from the waves of shock. Quietly, the mother made her way over to her child, panic rising through her tense body. She quietly slapped and shook her daughter, hoping desperately that she would awake quietly.

"Bianca! Bianca, vakn opp! Bianca, wake up!"

Blood was splattered over the four-year-old child's face. Wood and glass pieces cutting through fragile pale skin. Her hair was turning red, alongside the white pajamas that were wrapping too tightly around the child's small figure.

"Bianca, vaer sa snill! Bianca, wake up!"

Suddenly, Bianca gasped and opened her ice colored eyes. She was breathing heavily, her eyes traveling over the disaster in front of her young eyes. But her panickness relaxed slightly when she saw that her mother was beside her, and alive. The mother's coal eyes brightened at the sight of her daughter gulping breaths.The strong mother didn't hesitate for a moment to scoop her daughter off of the wood floor, and bolt outside.

Snow storms were common in the small village, because the winters were always vicious. The summers were always short and sweet, and winter was long and raging. Throughout the short summer months, underground bunkers were put in place. They protected the villagers from the scary storms, and the mother knew that they would be useful now to protect her daughter.

As the mother ran through her property, another bomb landed a couple miles away. The aftershock sent nervous waves through the mother, and it made her grip her daughter harder. Over the shoulder, Bianca could see the bomb that read Stark, her eyes widened at the word she could not recognize.

Using her free hand, the Mother opened the underground bunker, and the effect sent dust and snow into the thick air. Bianca looked down into the bunker that had become familiar to her, but as the Stark bombs flew through the sky, the sight of the endless darkness scared her out of her skin.

The Mother set Bianca down, and grabbed her shoulder roughly. Tears were streaming down her daughter's pale checks, and her breathing wasn't slowing down. The Mother choked on a breath of the cold air, and said, "Go, Bianca."

"Mor--"

"Go, Bianca, please," The Mother said, but then stopped. At that moment, she takes off her necklaces and places it in her daughter's shaking hands. "Take this. If the village is in danger, the necklace will blink. Now go."

Bianca looked at her mother for another moment, then started down the ladder into the underground bunker. The dark swallowed her up, eating her whole, and her body couldn't stop shaking. Eventually, her small feet hit the stone floor of the bunker, and when she looked back up, her lid was closed and her mother was long gone.

Tears immediately started to fall as the young girl slid slowly to the freezing stone floor. She placed her hands over her heart, holding the pulsing necklace close. Her knees brushed against her chest, and her body continued to shake and shiver as darkness overtook her.

~~~

"It's over," A white-haired man said, "Fury has released everything to the public."

"Everything he knows about," A man with glass said in response, confidence flowing through his stiff stance.

The two men were standing in a room that was hidden underground, hidden from the human eye. The room, as well as an underground facility, was filled with weapons and scientific experiments. Every worker was wearing an olive green jumpsuit, and every sound that filled the underground work space seemed silent and hidden. Secrets lingered around every corner, waiting impatiently to pop out at anyone who dares to look.

"Herr Strucker, if they get word on our work here, if they find out we serve HYDRA..."

"HYDRA... S.H.I.E.L.D Two sides of a coin that's no longer currency," The man says as he starts walking forward. The two turn a corner, and their eyes fall on the glowing blue light of the scepter. The magical object seemed to attract everyone's attention for two reasons, one because it is famous, and two because it is from a word that isn't Earth. "What we have is worth more than any of them ever knew. We've only scratched the surface and already,"

The man stopped talking, his sharp accent echoing off of the stone walls. He started walking again, and white-haired man followed close behind, curiosity and nervousness mixing in his perfect position. They left the magical scepter behind, and once they turned the corner, the conversation picked up again.

"There are other facilities doing HYDRA's good work around the world," The man continued, "We'll feed them to Captain American and his colorful friends, and keep them off of scent."

"What about the volunteer's?" The white-haired man asked.

"The dead will be buried," The man answered in his sharp accent, walking towards the experiment center, "their own ghosts won't be able to find them."

The two came to a stop.

"And the survivors?"

"Bianca and the twins," The man smiles, looking happily at the cells that hold the three secret weapons of HYDRA. "Sooner, or later, they will meet them. It's not a world of spies anymore. Not even a world of heroes. This is the age of miracles, Doctor. There's nothing more horrifying than a miracle."

Each cell was the same, but different, out of the ordinary things were happening in each.

In the first cell, there was a white-and-black-haired boy. He was lean, and fit, and his own body was tense with anxiety. He was moving around the room at the speed of light, knocking over things that lay in his path. His newfound powers were out of his control, every movement was fast and quicker than the last. His tense body was tired and scared, both emotions relating to his new power of super speed.

The other cell held a girl. The girl was the same age as the boy, but her hair was black as night. She looked tired, but her stance was untense. The power was moving through her without any stress or anxiety. The power seemed to already be a part of her, and she couldn't keep her eyes off of the things she could do with her hands. Red energy lined both her fingertips and the toy blocks in front of her. The box was floating in midair, right in front of the girls face. They turned and moved when her fingers turned, and they did everything that she said. After eyeing them for a moment, she smashed them together, breaking the wooden boxes into pieces.

The last cell was covered in. Ice was creeping up the walls, and snowflakes were drifting through the small enclosed room. The girl was young, younger than both of the twins. Her hair was white as snow, and her eyes were the color of ice. Her breath appeared in clouds in front of her lips, the temperature dropping around her. She was shaking but from fear instead of the cold. All of the furniture in the room was floating, hovering a couple inches above the ice-covered floor.

At that moment, the girl screamed, and the ice around her just thickened from her fear.